QUIET RUBBERS.
Off to Olympia—greatest show on earth—with wife; also with Bob and his wife. Find the two ladies wearing goloshes—"rubbers" they call them—say "they've just read in the paper that they are universal in America in winter." Annoyed. Never knew my wife's feet were as large as they seem now. Bob defends goloshes—hypocrite! Says "nothing wets feet like snow, and at any moment we may be in for the greatest snow on earth." Stupid joke, considering that a good boot will keep out anything. Why shouldn't the ladies leave their rubbers outside show, in cloak-room—as people do in mosques in the East? Would be quite in keeping with the "Orient." Ladies say they'll be lost—a good job if they were! Getting quite sulky, when BOB suggests dinner. Good dinner! Excellent wines! Wife's feet don't look as large now. Why doesn't everybody wear g'loshes? Old Greeks must have worn 'em—don't we read of the "Goloshus of Rhodes?" Old Romans, too, or why did they call their Olympia the Golosheum? BOB says they didn't. I say they did! Disturbance. Wonder who's making it? Turn 'em out! They're turning me out! Won't go—send for Kiralfy—Goloshy Kiralfy—there's the word again! Goloshy must wear rubbers. People trying to pacify me. Won't let 'em. Back home. Wife crying. What for? Says she will never go out in rubbers again! Yes, she shall. So will I. Put 'em on now!—To bed in rubbers.